


Promises

by FitzsimmonsForever



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Fitz and simmons need help, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Healing, Hurt/Comfort, Love, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Therapy, so they get sent to a cottage and just focus on each other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-25
Packaged: 2018-11-07 21:00:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11067048
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FitzsimmonsForever/pseuds/FitzsimmonsForever
Summary: Fitz and Simmons don't go to space with the rest of the team. Instead, they get sent to a little cottage in Perthshire where they focus on healing and loving each other. There will be angst. There will be fluff. There will be therapy sessions. But most importantly, there will be Fitzsimmons!





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Hi guys! After reading a post on Tumblr, I realized that I really wanted to write this fic. The whole focus of the fanfic is going to be Fitzsimmons healing and there will be angst, hurt/comfort, and fluff… I have no idea how long this is going to be. My plan is to write until I have no ideas left… so buckle up and I hope you enjoy the ride!

It’s a cold night when Jemma says goodbye to the team. 

She stands facing them, a strong breeze pushing her hair around her face. The night sky is dark, a few stars twinkling weakly into the darkness. Clouds make the moonlight thick, but the bright field lights that tower above them illuminate the surrounding asphalt, mixing together with the long shadows created by the giant aircraft next to them. It’s a huge thing, bronze metal glinting like polished jewelry.

It’s a space ship.

Melinda May doesn't do goodbyes. It's not that she hates them. She just doesn't understand it. So she just gives Jemma a single nod and a quick hug, whispering into her ear. 

"Until next time, Simmons."

It is a small gesture, but it means a lot to Jemma and she almost bursts into tears right then and there. May walks away and does not look back. 

“I’m-“ Jemma pauses, taking a shuddering breath, watching May disappear into the spaceship. “We’re going to miss you.” 

_We’re._

She wishes that Fitz had come with her to say goodbye, to see their friends off for what could be the last time. But he has been acting differently lately, hasn’t been out of his room in days, hasn’t spoken to her or anyone else on the team for that matter. 

_This will be good for us_ , she thinks, though it makes her chest ache. _Saying goodbye is painful but he needs this. We need this._

“You guys stay safe. Don’t go off doing anything stupid,” Mack says, interrupting Jemma’s thoughts. His face looks old, wrinkles chiseled into his forehead that had not been there before the Framework. He has his arm around Elena’s waist, keeping the woman close to his side.

“We’ll be safe,” Jemma responds. _Safer than you guys by far,_ she doesn’t say out loud. 

“I hope you both rest and heal,” Elena says, giving her a little nod. She looks content next to Mack, her hand rubbing up and down his arm slowly. 

Jemma thinks of Fitz and her blood freezes in her veins. 

She misses him. 

Both Mack and Elena say their last goodbyes, stepping away and leaving Jemma alone with Coulson and Daisy. 

Jemma gives a little smile, eyes clouding with tears. This is hard. 

“You all have to be careful too, okay?” she says. “You’ll be in space without us and…. I don’t think I need to tell you how dangerous-“ 

Before she can finish, Daisy takes a step forwards and in the next moment, Jemma is wrapped into a warm hug. 

“I wish you were coming with us,” Daisy said, her voice thick. She pulls away a little and looks Jemma in the eye, hands gripping her friends shoulders with a gentle strength. 

When she takes a step back, she turns a little hands brushing against her eyes. Jemma and Coulson pretend not to notice her tears, and when she turns back, her face is dry. 

“I-“ Simmons pauses, swallowing. “I wish we could. But-“ 

She can’t continue, and thankfully, Coulson speaks. 

“You both need some time to heal,” he says with a nod. “That was a part of the agreement I made, and so this is the way it has to be.”

“Take plenty of pictures,” Simmons says with a little smile. “Fitz is going to be so upset that he didn’t get to go see the cosmos.”

Daisy smirks and turns. She hesitates, wind howling, air thick with silence. 

Then, she leaves. 

It is now just Jemma and Coulson, standing face to face, the monster of the spaceship looming over them. 

She feels so small. 

“He’s going to need you now more than ever. You look after him for us, alright?” he says, and, to her surprise she can hear the faint tremble of tears in his voice. Coulson had never been one to show blatant emotion, choosing to lead the team with a firm hand and unwavering confidence. Yet now, he shows just a little of that feeling he usually keeps hidden. 

She respects him more for it. He sticks out his hand and she accepts it, giving him a firm shake.

“I’ll do my best, sir,” she says.  “It’s a promise.” 


	2. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here’s the next chapter! I warn you, this one gets angsty and there is an implied anxiety attack, so if that bothers you, please be careful reading. I know this was supposed to be a mostly fluffy and healing story, but I got to get through the angst phase first! I’m really sorry XD

It’s raining the day they land in Perthshire. 

It’s not a heavy, thick rain but a thin, slow rain that seems to whisper against the windshield as they speed through the surrounding countryside. The hills are shrouded with dark gray clouds, white fog floating close to the road and making it almost impossible to see where they are going. The trees that dot the hilltops are a deep, forest green, and despite the lack of sun, the colors of the landscape are absolutely vivid. 

Jemma leans back in her seat, looking away from the countryside and over to the man sitting in the car next to her. Fitz leans his head against the window, eyes staring off into nowhere, mouth pressed in a thin line. His arms are crossed over his chest like a shield blocking her from him. 

They have not spoken a word to each other since they sat down in the car.

It has been like this more often than not, a heavy silence following the two of them like the surrounding rain clouds. She hates this, but something stops her before she can even try to speak with him. 

He is different now. 

It’s not that she minds him being different. People change: she knows that more than anyone. But she has to figure out how to address this change, what she needs to do to help him through the hardships that he has yet to face.

She just isn't sure how. She feels utterly useless, as if she is trying to fix a gaping wound with a measly bandaid. 

It’s the same way she felt after Ward. 

The car slows to a stop, pulling her from her thoughts. Jemma sits up a little straighter in her seat. 

She can see a little building outside. 

“We’re here, Fitz,” she says, smiling at him. He gives her a little nod, hands attempting to smooth back his messy curls. 

After thanking the driver, she pushes open the door and steps out of the car. Fitz climbs out after her, standing and facing the building in front of them. 

The cottage is small, made of white and gray stones and a thatched roof. The door is painted a light blue, giving it an innocent and cheery feeling. Green ivy climbs up past the windows of the second story, white flowers dotting the walls. 

Jemma finds herself smiling, not even caring about the rain dripping down her face. She throws open the trunk, grabbing the handle of one of the suitcases and hosting it to the ground. 

“It’s beautiful,” Fitz says next to her. They glance at each other, eyes meeting. 

She smiles. “Don’t just stand there ogling at it, help me get the suitcases out!” 

He rolls his eyes playfully and grabs the other suitcase, and for a second, it’s as if none of the past few years had ever happened. 

This is going to be really good for them, she knows. 

They step up to the little porch, and Jemma takes his hand in her own, thumb brushing over his knuckles. “Isn’t it just what you imagined, Fitz? I love it!” 

It’s nice to see him smile, and a giggle escapes her as he pulls her excitedly past the front door and into the cottage. 

The entrance to the house opens immediately into the living space, a little creme couch facing a fireplace. A red rug decorates the hardwood floor, and a little brown coffee table rests across from the couch. 

It’s perhaps the cutest room that Jemma has ever seen in her life. 

“Oh, Fitz! This is going to be amazing!” she says. “Let’s go look at the rest of it!”

They spend the better part of the next hour running around, looking at each room in the cottage. It’s surprisingly large, containing two bedrooms, a bathroom, a kitchen and living area, and a few storage closets. 

Coulson had found the perfect place for them, she was sure. 

 

After they finish exploring the cottage, Jemma leans back into the couch, letting herself relax into the soft white fabric. She feels sore and tired, despite the fact she spent most of the day in a car.

She hears a voice from the door. 

“Jemma,” he asks hesitantly. He stands at the threshold of the living room, both hands holding the handles of their suitcases, wheeling them into the room. 

His shoulders are tense. 

“What’s up, Fitz?” she asks, patting the couch next to her. He comes over to her and sits, leaving a good half foot of space between their bodies. 

She tries not to frown at the distance. 

“I just… I know that we’re together…” he begins, and she can tell he’s having trouble finding the words, his sentence broken and halting. 

“I mean- we’re together. But… I think-“ he cuts off again. 

“It’s okay, Fitz,” she says, gently. “I need you to tell me what you want.” 

He swallows and looks away from her. “I think we shouln’t sleep together- I mean- not sleep together like… together- but not-“

“You mean we shouldn’t share a room?” she asks him. 

He nods, turning his head away from her. She can see the glint of tears in his eyes. 

The logical part of her mind knows this is what he needs. This is what is best for them both, a little bit of separation. They hadn’t been sharing a room together since the Framework, so it’s not like this is a drastic change. 

But this only strengthens her fears, only makes her even more afraid that they will drift apart until they are two completely different people, not the inseparable Fitzsimmons from before. 

“You’re not-“ he swallows. “-mad, are you?” 

She shakes her head. “No, no, of course not, Fitz.”

He clenches his hands in his lap, looking down. She can see him shaking. 

“I’m not mad, Fitz,” she says, unable to keep the frustration from leaking into her voice. “I just miss you.”

“You miss who I used to be,” he snaps back. “Before the framework.”

“No, that’s not what I-“

But he cuts her off, standing up sharply and taking a step back. “I’m sorry.” 

With that, he’s gone. 

Jemma puts her head in her hands. 

 

It’s just like what happened after Ward. 

He’s changed and Jemma’s scared and he’s _hurting_ her and he can’t stop himself and it’s all _too much._

He slams open the door to the first room he sees, lowering himself to the floor and letting himself shake into little pieces. 

Too much. Too much. _Too much…._

It’s either minutes or hours before he’s aware again, his body stiff and his joints creaking with every movement. He stands up, running a shaking hand over his face. 

The room he had found himself in is a little bedroom. A twin bed rests in the corner, next to a large oak desk. The window overlooks the river outside, and he leans against the sill, watching the rain patter outside. 

In every other circumstance, staying at this cottage would have been so exciting for the both of them. But it’s not and that’s all his fault. There isn’t anything he can do to change that.


	3. The First Morning

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not sure why this chapter was so difficult to write. I swear I started it over and over like… thirty seven times before I wrote something I was actually half way happy with. Anyways, I hope you enjoy a little bit of domestic fluff along with healthy conversations. <3 Because that’s what you’re getting in this chapter XD

Morning sunlight streams in through the open window, illuminating the kitchen in light golden warmth.A cool breeze ruffles the pale blue curtains, brushing its cool fingers over the bare skin of Jemma’s arms and making her shiver. 

It’s their first morning in the cottage, and she knows that today is the start of their new life for the time being. It may only be a temporary situation, but she wants to make this work, wants them to be as happy as she can. 

So she makes breakfast. 

She is standing over the small oven in the cottage’s little kitchen, flipping pancakes and humming a little tune that she didn’t remember ever hearing but is inscribed into her brain all the same. Her brown hair falls over her eyes, and she brushes it away with one hand, glancing up when she hears footsteps from down the hall. 

Fitz stands in the threshold, his curls in disarray. His eyes are red and puffy, and his cheeks are pale, as if he’s sick. He’s still in his pajamas, red checkered pants and a large t-shirt that hangs loosely on his small form. He looks both sad and adorable at the same time. 

Neither of them speak for a moment. He just stands there and watches her cook, as if her turning up the flame on the stove is the most interesting thing in the world. 

“Good morning,” he says to her after a moment, and she lets out a little breath, glad that he didn’t seem mad. 

Part of her had been worried that after last night, he wouldn’t want to speak with her and try to push her away. 

“Good morning, Fitz,” she says, grinning and waving her spatula in the air. “I’m making breakfast.” 

He hums in response, stepping into the room and going over to the square table pushed under the window. Pulling out a creaking wooden chair, he sits down, and it isn’t long before his foot is tapping against the white tile. She clenches her teeth and puts a couple of pancakes on a red paper plate. 

Silence. 

She desperately tries to think of an appropriate conversation starter. 

Talking to him hadn’t felt this awkward since they had met all those years ago. Neither of them had known where to start, had known what to say or how to say it. He had been so awkward and she had been too shy. It honestly is a miracle that they had even started talking, but he had mentioned thermodynamics and once they started discussing science, they never seemed to stop, until they were finishing each others sentences and annoying every single SHIELD Academy student within a five mile radius. 

Maybe science is where she should start, she thinks to herself. 

“Isn’t this place fascinating? I’m sure there are so many interesting things we can study out there,” she says, turning off the stove and coming over to sit down across from him. She pushes a plate of pancakes across the table. 

He looks down at them, as if confused and then looks back up. “You remembered to put the white chocolate chips in it.” 

“Of course I did,” she responds. “Just like you like it.”

It’s a little easier to breathe now. They have settled into normalcy. 

“Do you want to go on a walk sometime?” she asks him, wiping her hands on a napkin and picking up her fork. “I sort of want to take samples from the river. Just imagine what sorts of interesting bacteria must be swimming around out there!” 

“You never stop thinking about science, do you?” he asks through a bite of pancake. 

“You’re one to talk,” she snaps back playfully. “You try and modify every single piece of technology you find.” 

“Hey, we’ve been here a day and I still haven’t messed with the tv,” he says. 

“Yet,” she responds, rolling her eyes. 

He finishes off his food, leaning back in the seat and putting his fork down on the plate. It’s the most relaxed he’s looked in a long time, and Jemma hopes that this upward trend will continue, that from here on out, it will be nothing but white chocolate chip pancakes and warm yellow sunlight. 

Life is never that simple, and she knows the next conversation wont be so carefree.

“So-“ she begins. “We… actually have an appointment we have to go to today.”

She and Coulson hadn’t exactly told Fitz about this part of the agreement, thinking it best to leave out the details of their trip until they were fully settled in. In truth, she and Coulson hadn’t expected Fitz to agree to coming along if he had known the exact terms. 

“What do you mean by that?” he asks and she can see him stiffening, throwing up his defenses before she can even open her mouth to speak. 

“Part of Coulson’s terms for us coming here,” she says, fingers picking at the napkin, unconsciously shredding the paper into smaller squares. 

Fitz shakes his head. “I knew this was too good to be true. He has us doing a job doesn’t he? God, that man has nothing but his own ambition-“ 

“Fitz, he set us therapy appointments,” she interrupts, heart leaping in her chest. 

Everything is still. Then he lets out a breath, some of the napkin shreds blowing into the air and across the floor like little snowflakes. 

“Oh.” 

That is all he can say for a second and she just stares, watching his every little expression pass over his face. 

His expressions have become so familiar to her, the way his brow crinkles when he’s confused, the way the corners of his eyes turn up when he’s trying not to smile, the way his lips press when he’s angry. Even when she isn’t quite sure what he’s thinking, she can always tell the way he feels about something.

Except for now. 

His face is blank and his eyes are wide and, no matter how hard she tries, she can’t seem to read the way this sudden plot twist made him feel. 

“That’s a good idea,” he says suddenly, completely surprising her. 

She opens her mouth to respond to him, but he holds up a hand, stopping her gently. He isn’t looking at her now, his head lowered and his eyes fixed on the table. 

Outside, a bird sings a gentle, trilling tune. Jemma and Fitz sit in silence, listening to the sound of the bird’s melody, floating gently through the cottage, accompanied only by the sound of the river rushing outside. 

The sun continues to rise. 

Finally, Fitz speaks. 

“I don’t want this to keep happening,” he says. 

Her mouth is dry. “What do you mean by ‘ _this_ ’?”

“Me hurting you,” he says. 

“You didn’t h-“

_“Stop.”_ The word is forceful, but there is a lack of anger in his tone. His fingers rub at his sleeve, trying to wipe away a nonexistent stain. 

“I know you forgave me, because that’s who you are. Jemma, you’ve put up with my temper for years and years, and you’re still here and I’m so grateful for that.” 

His voice wavers like the flame of a candle. 

“I can’t keep doing this to you,” he finishes. “It’s not fair and I feel horrible about it. I want to-“

His hands wipe at his eyes. 

She smiles, leaning forwards over the table and taking his hand in her own. She holds it there next to her face, pressing her lips to his warm skin. She rubs a finger gently over his knuckles, allowing herself this one, simple moment to just touch him like she used to. 

“I’ll support whatever decision you make, Fitz. But I agree, I think this will be good for you, she says. 

“Thank you, Jemma.”

Everything is right again. 

“Of course, Fitz.” 


	4. He Needs Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! It’s me again. Just thought I would announce it here, but I am hosting a Fitzsimmons fanfic competition on my tumblr (ending Wednesday, June 28)! So if you are interested in entering that, feel free to come check it out at my tumblr, Fitzsimmonsforlife (Other perks of following me, I post little snippets and updates on my writing, so you might get to read things from this story a day early! Sounds riveting doesn’t it? :D )
> 
> Summary: Jemma and Fitz have their therapy session. Realizations are made. (PS I really hope there aren’t too many POV changes. I did my best. :D )

“I think I’ve changed my mind about being here,” Fitz laughs from next to her, his voice a quiet whisper. 

Jemma grins and shifts to where she is a little closer to him, their thighs brushing against one another. They are sitting in a little waiting area, a place that feels like someone had intentionally designed it to be cozy, but had somehow fallen just short of that. 

There are two large brown couches, arranged in a little ‘L’ shape around a small black coffee table. In the corner, a fish tank rests, bubbles floating up through the water from a little plastic volcano. The walls are painted a dark green, slightly clashing with the pale purple carpet. A picture of a smiling family completes the odd room, showing a mother and a father pushing a little girl on a swing. 

“Yeah, I know what you mean. This decor is awful,” she says. She fiddles with her hair, trying to push it back behind her ears, mindlessly twirling it around her fingers. 

“Are we… Are we going to have the same doctor?” Fitz asks. 

Jemma shakes her head. “They want us to have separate personal therapists. And then we will have a couples therapist on Thursday.” 

He scoffs, but she can see his cheeks start to redden. “Couples therapy? We aren’t married or anything…” 

“You don’t have to be married to-“ Jemma starts to respond, but then one of the office doors in front of them clicks open and her voice cuts off. 

The woman that steps out is tall, her brown hair curled around her round face in tight ringlets. Her nose is small, her jaw is narrow and she looks younger than Jemma is expecting. 

“Jemma Simmons?” 

She stands up and, without hesitating, follows the woman into her office. 

Fitz is alone in the lobby for only a few more minutes, the ticking of the clock grating in his ears. He taps his foot against the floor, hands folded under his chin, eyes clenched shut. He feels like he’s already starting to fall apart without Jemma here. 

He tries to take a deep breath. Tries again. 

The office door to his left clicks open. 

“Leopold?”

He tries to copy the way Jemma stood, the way she walked bravely forwards. He tries to burn the memory of her into his mind. 

He enters the office. 

 

Jemma’s therapist, Dr. Goodman, reminds her of a softer version of Daisy. From her voice to the way she sits back in her chair, she is made of gentle edges, unlike Daisy, who had always been sharper, more dangerous, a force to be reckoned with. 

At least the office is decorated more pleasantly than the lobby, the walls painted a soft purple color, two black armchairs pushed into either corner by a large window. The oak desk resting in the center of the room is adorned with picture frames, showing an assortment of smiling faces. Jemma’s eyes catch on the picture of a little dog which rests in the corner. 

“So, tell me a little more about what you do, Jemma,” Dr. Goodman requests. 

“Hah, where to begin,” she says, wringing her hands in her lap. 

She starts where she always does, starts from Fitz. 

 

“I don’t know if I’m ready to talk about what happened,” he blurts out. He hasn’t even sat down yet, but the words burn in his mouth until he speaks them. 

The doctor shuts the door and then turns around, sending a spike of fear into his chest. 

He is the opposite of what Fitz imagined, a tall man with broad shoulders and a square jaw. He looks like an american football player, his dark hair shaved close to his head, his arms lean and muscular. In fact, Fitz might have mistaken him for a football coach if it hadn’t been for the checkered sweater vest that the man is wearing. 

“Perfectly understandable,” the man says, gesturing. “Take a seat.”

There are four chairs in the room. Fitz wonders if this is a test.

One of them is an office chair, pushed into the desk in the corner. So that choice is out. One chair is a wooden rocking chair, resting next to a tall, black book case. The other two seats are different types of lounge chairs, one a leathery brown and the other a bright, clean white. 

He swallows and picks the brown lounge chair. 

“Ah, good choice.”

_So it had been a test?_

Seeing the alarmed look in Fitz’s eyes, the man grins. “It’s my favorite armchair. Bought it off the side of the road if you can believe it.” 

_So… not a test?_

Fitz had no idea how to feel anymore. 

“Do you have any questions for me before we begin?” the man asks. 

Fitz just stares at him before the man’s eyes widen in surprise. The therapist raises one hand to his forehead. 

“Oh, lord me! I forgot to mention. My name is Dr. Smith. But you can call me James.” 

Fitz isn’t quite sure what to say, so he doesn’t say anything at all. 

James doesn’t seem phased by his silence. “Tell me about yourself. Can I call you Leopold or do you prefer Leo?” 

Fitz shudders. “Just- Fitz. Please call me Fitz.” 

“Alrighty, Fitz,” James says, clapping his hands together. “Lets get this started.” 

And so they talk. To Fitz’s relief, the subject of the Framework or AIDA didn’t come up. They hardly even talk about SHIELD, except for when James asks him about his work. 

All of the man’s questions are about Fitz’s life, what he likes to do for fun, where he used to go to school, simple things that are easy to answer. James even takes an interest in Fitz’s favorite type of monkey, much to the young scientists surprise and pleasure. 

Soon, however, the questions turn from his personal life into more pressing things, into more dangerous things. 

“So, if there is one thing you want to get out of this experience, what do you think it is?” James asks. 

Fitz gives a little shrug, looking down at his shoes, studying the tan carpet beneath his feet like it is the most interesting thing in the world. 

“I just-“ he cuts off. “I need- I-“ 

_Dammit. Breathe._

“I don’t want to hurt her again,” he finally manages to say. 

James nods. “Her being Jemma, I assume?” he asks. “What do you mean by ‘ _again_ ’.” 

Fitz shakes his head. That is too close, the question bordering on territory that he is yet to be comfortable with. 

James just nods again. “Okay, it’s okay,” the man says gently. “Take a breath for me, yeah?” 

And he does, a huge shuddering, gulping breath that fills him to the brim with air until his chest hurts.

“I- Sorry. I’m sorry,” Fitz says, not sure why he feels the need to apologize. 

“Don’t worry about it,” James says, not mentioning anything further. 

Fitz concentrates on taking slow and even breaths, on controlling his racing heart. They sit in silence until the young scientist looks back up, running one hand through his hair. 

“Okay, last question, I promise,” James says. “I talked to Phil Coulson a little bit about your case, and I saw some interesting things on your file.”

Fitz wonders what Coulson had said about him and there is a sour taste in his mouth. James either ignores his discomfort or doesn’t seem to notice it, choosing to continue to speak. 

“I know you said you didn’t want to talk much about things but I need to just check where you are medically speaking. In your file, it mentioned an incident that caused some brain damage…”

Fitz flinched, but part of him is glad this question isn’t about the Framework. 

“Do you still have speech or movement problems?” 

_It’s just a harmless question. Don’t worry about it._

He nods. 

_You have to answer the questions to get better. Remember what Jemma said._

“Y- Yeah. When I’m nervous. Or- frustrated,” he says. He doesn’t mention that it has been getting more frequent since everything had happened, but his voice seems to be done cooperating with him for the day and he is tired, ready for this to be over. 

“Okay, that’s okay,” James says with a nod. He snaps his fingers and claps his hands together in a little flourish. “We can talk more about all of that later. For now, lets get you finished with the rest of the paperwork and on your way home.” 

_Home._

Fitz isn’t sure what that word means to him anymore. 

 

When Jemma is done talking, Dr. Goodman leans back in her chair and flips her notebook closed. She clicks her pen once and then again, chewing on her lip. 

Jemma silently wonders if the woman should be trying to hide the fact she is actively analyzing her. 

“Fitz,” the woman begins. “You’ve talked a lot about him.”

“Yes,” she says. “He’s my best friend in the world…”

_And more than that._

“And the _Framework?_ Did I remember that correctly? You said it changed him?” she prompts. 

Jemma nods.

“I mean, he’s sort of the same now…. if that makes sense. But it made him do things. Horrible things. And he feels so guilty about it that it’s tearing him apart- tearing us apart,” she says. “I need to know how to help him.” 

“It sounds to me like you’ve thought a lot about his health and wellbeing,” Dr. Goodman says, looking straight into Jemma’s eyes. 

Jemma finds the first thing about the woman that’s sharp; her eyes are a piercing, deep brown. 

“It also sounds like you haven’t thought a lot about your own,” Dr. Goodman finishes. She stands up, walking slowly over to her desk. She sits down in the little office chair. 

“What-“ Jemma’s voice cuts off. There is a hand squeezing her heart, her chest aching. “What do you mean?” 

“Mr. Coulson came to me directly when he set up this appointment,” Dr. Goodman says, putting her notebook and pen down on her desk side by side. “He briefed me on the both of you.” 

Jemma isn’t sure whether she finds that fact comforting or enraging. She stays quiet, fingers wrapping around the arm of her seat. 

“Don’t worry, he didn’t tell me much of anything personal,” Dr. Goodman says, seeing the steely look in Jemma’s eyes. “But he told me enough to know that I need to make sure you focus on you. And I don’t think you’ve been doing that.” 

The saddest thing is the fact that she can’t even deny it. A part of her tries to anyways. 

“It’s not quite like that,” she stammers. “I- I do take care of myself. But he needs me. Now more than ever.” 

“Of course,” Dr. Goodman says. “But does him needing you cause you to ignore taking care of yourself?”

She doesn’t know how to answer. 

 

The drive back to the cottage is silent. Fitz is driving the little car they had been given, and she can see his jaw clenching, as if he is trying to keep himself from saying something. She flips off the radio and pulls her legs up, folding them under her body and leaning against the window. 

“What did you think about it?”

The question surprises her, and she glances over at him. He still isn’t looking at her. 

“I-“ she swallows. “I’m not sure I enjoyed it, but it was good. If that makes any sense at all.” 

Fitz gives a little nod, flipping on the turn signal. 

“I feel the same way,” he says, pulling into the cottage’s driveway.

They sit side by side in the car, unsure of what to do, but content to just be beside each other. The engine hums its own little symphony. Outside the wind blows, pushing and bending the trees’ limbs with its force. 

Suddenly, she has an idea. 

“Why don’t I make us some tea and then we go on a walk?” Jemma asks. 

Fitz gives a relieved smile and turns off the car. “Sounds perfect!” 

She smiles in guilty relief. 

Sure, Dr. Goodman had said to give herself a little distance from him. But to hell with it. He is Fitz and she is Simmons. 

Taking care of herself meant taking care of him. 

_Because he needs me, now more than ever._

 


	5. To Stay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK guys, I am taking requests for this fanfic, so if any of you want to see something happen within the story, let me know and I’ll see if I can fit it in! 
> 
> I hope you guys like this… Idk it just feels… hollow to me. There is a lot of emotion I am trying to convey and it’s really hard to write. Let me know what you think in the comments please. <3
> 
> Warning: Pretty intense panic attack described in this chapter. I did try to keep it vague but please be careful if that sort of thing bothers you. Stay safe lovelies!

The tile is cold against his bare shins, biting into his skin with a fierce icy fire. He latches on to that sensation, splaying his hands out against the floor as if the increase of contact will help keep him grounded in reality. 

His consciousness is floating and he’s certain he’s dying, sure that if he doesn’t grab ahold of something, he’ll drift off into nothingness for good. 

He opens his mouth to scream, but nothing comes out, not even a breath. It’s stuck in his throat. 

He can’t see.

 

When he becomes aware again, the sun has fully risen, morning light streaming in through the little stained glass window above the mirror. 

He doesn’t get up right away, unsure if he can force his body into motion after being in the same position for so long. His joints are rusted over, muscles frozen, held taught. 

This hasn’t been his first _‘fit’._

A fit is the only thing he can describe it as. One moment, he’s fine. The next he’s shaking apart, unable to move, unable to breathe. 

It always leaves him feeling hollow, as if someone had scooped out his heart and left a dark, empty cavern in its place. He isn’t quite sure what to do about it, so he just lays there for a few more minutes, watching the sunlight grow brighter against the white walls. 

Eventually, he moves, forcing himself off the floor, leaning heavily against the sink. 

He glances up into the mirror. The Doctor stares back, eyes darkened, skin pale, mouth twisted into a grimace. Fitz flinches away, slamming out of the little bathroom as quickly as he can, throwing himself back into his room. 

The part of his brain that is still aware hopes that Simmons didn’t hear all of the commotion. 

He feels much better in his bed, pulling the blankets around his shoulders and leaning back against the headboard. 

Nothing can happen here. He can’t hurt anyone if he stays right like this. 

He closes his eyes and just _exists._

 

Jemma had thought Fitz was asleep. She had pulled herself out of bed before the sun, unable to sleep once she had woken up no matter how hard she had attempted to. Resolving to try and make this a good day, she had pulled out a book and made herself an early morning cup of tea. 

However, she knows it will be the opposite of that when she hears a door slam open, followed by another door slamming shut. 

Fitz. 

Her heart falls in her chest. 

She puts her mug down on the tabletop, leaning forwards to rest her elbows on her knees. 

It’s always hard to decide if she should go to him. There are times when her presence helps, times when just being there to hold his hand brings him out of the foggy darkness of his mind. But more than that, there are times where he flinches from her touch, where he yells at her until his voice goes hoarse from the effort, where even the sight of her sends more panic through his body until she thinks he will pass out from it. 

But, as she always does, she decides to go to him, unable to bare the thought of leaving him alone. 

She hesitates outside his door, fingers resting on the cool, silver handle. 

“Fitz?” she tries to say, but it comes out as a weak, unintelligible whisper. She taps her fingers against the door and says his name again. 

There is no reply. 

She leans her forehead against the smooth oak wood of the door. “If you don’t answer in twenty seconds, I’m going to come in.” 

She counts to thirty and then pushes open the door. 

The room is dark, the navy blue curtains pulled over the window to block out the sun. She nearly trips over the open suitcase, its gaping mouth leaking clothes onto the carpeted floor. She dodges a few sweaters, hands reaching down to pick them up off the ground and placing them back in the suitcase. 

“Fitz, you’ve been here less than a week and it’s already a me-“ 

Her voice cuts off when she glances over at him. 

His face is pale, not his normal pastiness, but a ghostly white that makes him look dead. His eyes are closed, and his breath is a little too controlled, as if he is using all of his brainpower to do so. A bead of sweat drips down his cheek. 

“Is it a bad day?” she asks, voice choking off. She knows the answer even before she asks him the question. 

She doesn’t remember him ever looking this ill before, not even the time he had caught the flu at SHIELD Academy. He had to miss two weeks of class for that, she remembers. 

This is the worst she has seen him since they had gotten to the cottage, certainly. 

She walks over to him, kneeling by the bed. Her hands lay on the blue duvet, aching to reach out and touch him. 

“Talk to me, Fitz,” she says. “Tell me what I can do.” 

He lets out a slow breath. He opens his eyes. 

“It’s fine, Jemma. I-“ His whole body shudders. “I think I want to be alone.” 

“Are you sure?” she asks him. 

He nods, and she stands up, walking away even though her entire body screams at her to simply _stay._

 

He doesn’t leave his room all day, the cottage shrouded in heavy silence. 

Around two in the afternoon, she gets antsy and worried again, so she makes him a sandwich and brings it to his room. 

He’s laying down, breaths slow in the gentleness of sleep. She puts the plate down on the desk and kneels by him again, watching his jaw clench. 

She so desperately wants to wipe the lines off his forehead, wants to drive the pain away with the gentle touch of her hand. 

But she just sits there and watches him, feeling useless. 

It’s like he’s on another planet and she can only sit back and hope that he’ll be okay. She wonders if this is how he felt when she had been stuck on Maveth. 

His eyes blink open. 

“Jemma?” 

“Yeah, Fitz. I’m right here,” she says gently. And suddenly she has no control over her hands, running her fingers through his curls, wiping the sweat of his forehead, pressing her fingers to his jaw and just resting them there. 

To her relief, he lets her. 

“Why haven’t you left?” he asks. 

She stares at him a second. “I did. I went out and read. You’ve been asleep for a long time.” 

He shakes his head once and rolls to face her. “No, why haven’t you _left,_ Jemma? Why haven’t you left me yet?” 

“Fitz, I would never-“ 

“You’ve given up on me before.” 

Tears blur her vision and she can’tbring herself to answer. 


End file.
